


Blood Moon

by C_D_Wofford



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Endometriosis, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Menstruation, Pain, Showers, Skeevy Motels, Steamy Shower Scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22257118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_D_Wofford/pseuds/C_D_Wofford
Summary: You've been on the road with the Winchesters for just a few weeks. And here you are again; another skeevy motel, another creepy backwater hick-town. Endo is hard to live with; you've kept it under wraps easily enough so far, but tonight looks like it's gonna go a different direction. Curse the stupid blood-moon. The one night you're sharing a room with the boys is the night it hits you full force. Will you be able to hide it?Living as someone with endometriosis, I kind of wrote this story as a self-comfort thing. I've kept it to myself for a long time, but today during another attack I dusted it off for another read and thought it might be okay to post. I'd love to hear what you think! Comments really make a sick-day better. Enjoy!
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	1. Mothman...Really?

It all started because of that stupid documentary. Late night crap TV in a motel with nothing but local programming couldn't lead to anything good. Mothman? I mean, come on. It sounded like some ridiculous spoof superhero. Moths weren't dangerous, or even scary, for Pete's sake. Just silent and soft and kind of dusty. But there were enough interviews with the locals to catch Dean and Sam's attention, and since West Virginia was -by some roundabout way- on the way back to your place in Tennessee according to Sam, here you freakin' were. You'd thought about renting a car and parting ways to go home; your family was anxious to have you back after you'd disappeared a month ago. But the truth was, you weren't all that anxious to get back. Not right now. 

So this was it. Another junk motel in the boonies of West Virginia, a place you'd hoped never to see again after an...interesting experience on a middle-school missions trip with your church. And on top of that, you didn't even have your own darn space. 

"One room. Three beds. You got something like that?" Dean asked the tobacco-spitting attendant in the lobby. You were busy checking out the way flies were crawling over the "glass" eyes in the mangy buck's head adorning the wall, but that caught your attention. 

"What? No. No, no, I'm getting my own room." 

It was like you never spoke. Mr. Tobacco switched his spittle-soaked toothpick to the other side of his mouth and scratched one greasy, hairy cheek as he looked Sam up and down before his eyes slid to your ample bosom. Gross. This place was nasty in so many ways. 

"I got one with two beds and a fold-out. Ya'll sure you're gonna want three? I can getcha a kingsize. Knock the price down if you're up for company later." He leered at you and then winked at Dean, sliding a startlingly red tongue along yellowed and moldy teeth. You smiled a little at the sudden violent image you had of knocking the hook-nose sideways on the skeevy face in a spray of blood. You guessed Sam must have noticed the dangerous glare you were leveling at the attendant because you jumped a little when he put his hand on your arm and drew you a little aside while Dean handled business. 

"Sam, I want my own room. You know I can take care of myself. Break knees, pop eyeballs out; I'm actually kind of in the mood," you said, feeling your anger and frustration surge and getting annoyed at yourself for it. That didn't help. Sam chuckled a little, and while it pissed you off, your shoulders relaxed a little. 

"I can tell. And I know you can, believe me, I've seen it. But there's a difference between being tough and being stupid. And out here in creepy, serial-killer, rape-y hick-town? It's safest to stick together. For everyone. Deal? We'll move somewhere else tomorrow."

"Fine. Whatever. Just to look after you guys though. I think Cousin Earl wants to eat you and Dean alive. In all senses of the word."

"Oh- geeze. Thanks for that," Sam said, and rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little as he walked away from you to pick up the duffel bags and follow Dean to the room. He'd apparently won the argument about the two beds, because when he unlocked the door, two twins in a drab little room smelling of weed and...fluids...welcomed the three of you with pilling cammoflage-pattern bedsets. You looked around and instantly your heart sank. 

"Where the heck is the fold-out? There's not a couch in this room."

Sam leaned over and pulled a trundle out from under one of the beds. An empty condom package fluttered to the floor and you rolled your eyes. 

"Oh my- wow. Okay." 

Dean chuckled. 

"Heyyyy, look at that, sweetheart! You get to bunk with me. Don't look like that; you know you want to." He put his things down on the higher bed and flopped down across it, kicking off his boots over the edge. You rolled your eyes, but didn't comment. Maybe because your cheeks were kind of pink, maybe because he was actually right. You'd caught it bad for the older Winchester since day one and it only kept getting stronger. How did the man make everything he did so beautiful? The trundle sucked, but at least you had a good view. You dragged your tee-shirt over your head, pretending not to notice how he watched, the spaghetti-strap tank you wore underneath hugging your generous curves and offering a glimpse of the fun push-up bra you were so fond of. You gathered your short hair into as much of a ponytail as it could manage, a few little sprigs too short to work with brushing your neck. The pinstripe tattoo on the back of your neck that you hid from your parents caught his eye, you could feel it. 

Stop it, you berated yourself, cursing mentally. This was yet another reason why sharing rooms was a bad, bad idea. You were volatile right now. You didn't trust yourself like this, especially not around...that. But you found yourself not caring. Liking it, actually. A lot. And that, right there, was the problem. You lay down, sliding under the covers after checking under them and wiggling out of your jeans, dropping them on the floor. 

"Okay, you guys watch TV or research or whatever. Nothing naughty, Dean. My bed's attached to yours and I don't wanna feel you...moving."

Sam snorted and you rolled over with your back to them both, not waiting to see Dean's reaction but smiling a little in satisfaction. Whatever the boys ended up doing, it hardly mattered because you weren't aware of much more after that. Suddenly you were exhausted, and it hit you like a freight train. The low murmur of conversation, and Dean's muttered rejoinder of "You just don't want me moving alone,", the smell of whisky when the boys brought out the bottle, the familiar flash of the TV; it was all crushed and muffled under a wave of black as you fell asleep. The hand brushing your hair back from your neck and adjusting the blanket over your shoulder may as well have been a dream.


	2. Knock Knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your night takes a turn for the worse...and its not going unnoticed.

It was dark. Cold sweat slicked your skin and soaked your tank-top, but you felt like you were in...well, Hell. The sheets stuck to you; it was disgusting. But more than that, you were in agony. You curled up, making yourself as small as possible and biting your lip until it bled as you tried to breathe through it without waking anyone. The last thing you wanted was to give an explanation for this. Tears squeezed out of the corners of your eyes and your chest spasmed with a silent sob that choked you. The intensity deepened in another wave of pain and you rolled off the trundle, hitting the floor with a muffled thud. You were writhing, literally. There was no way you would be able to keep quiet for long. You had to have relief. 

Gasping, you staggered halfway to your feet, doubled over nearly until you toppled over forward, one arm clutching at your middle while the other reached out to the crusty carpet to steady or catch you should you start to fall. This would have to work. You lurched the few feet to the bathroom and closed the door, stripping, ripping back the shower curtain and nearly falling into it, not bothering to pull it closed again, turning the water on as hot as it would go and falling back a little in relief at the promise of help, letting the first whimper escape your lips under the camouflaging sound of the rickety shower. You panted, gritting your teeth as you watched the steam begin to billow up toward the buzzing, bug-cluttered light fixture and then glanced down to find your skin turning red. Sometimes you did get a few burns from times like these. But it was worth it; anything to distract from the pain inside. 

You let your head fall back against the wall, shifting your weight in the bottom of the shower to get as much of the stream as possible. Slowly as the heat started it's numbing work, you lifted a wildly trembling arm to pull on the curtain and try to close it. It ripped down from three of the rings, too dry rotted to even try sliding the rusty rings along the pole. You let your hand drop and just let the tears come. You were good at being quiet; only one or two people in your memory had ever really seen you cry, and most people never knew you ever did. Your face crumpled, ugly sobbing. Who cared, there was no one around.You were so lonely. What were you doing in this nasty dive? Why on earth had you stuck around with guys like that, were you insane? Sam was cool, Dean was...well. You never had a chance anyway, and having this happen? Now? It was a nightmare. 

You whimpered again and shuddered, clenching your teeth and clutching the edge of the tub as another spasm took you. It hurt like nothing you'd ever felt before; you remembered the boys had their whisky bottle out, vaguely. Whisky. You had never been drunk and you'd sworn never to be, but right now your brain was tearing itself apart from the inside and driving you mad with pain, and you were crazy about the idea of downing the whole freaking bottle. Anything to stop this. Just to make it so you could go back to sleep...there was no way you'd make it out into the room. Not right now, not like this. You couldn't even stand at the moment. You turned the water hotter. 

There was a soft knock on the door and you cursed, weakly, your voice a tearful, shaky mess as you struggled with the curtain. You fixed it just in time for Dean to come in. Of course. Why did it have to be him? You almost burst into tears again at the sight of him.

"Sonuvabitch," he murmured, sleepily. "It's a sauna in here. You okay, Y/N? It's like two in the morning."

"I just need the shower for awhile," you managed, forcing every word slowly to try to minimize the hitching. He caught the trembles though. 

"Y/N, are you crying?"

"Can you bring me the whisky, please?" you asked, your voice a little bit muffled because you'd been biting your arm to keep grounded. He was quiet for a moment and then you heard the quiet bump of the door coming to. He'd gone for it. You almost sobbed with relief. When he came back in, you were peeking out from the curtain, and you thought you'd never seen something as beautiful as that porcupine bed-head in boxer-briefs holding Jack Daniels. He handed the bottle through the curtain and you drank it straight, gulping it down until the burn forced you to pause for a breath. 

"Thanks. Thank you so much," you babbled, too eagerly. Chuck, you were losing it. You paused, shyly. "Dean..."

"You want me to sit up with you for awhile?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He closed the toilet lid and sat down, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. You watched, longingly. He was still so far away...

"...Dean?"

"You want me to come in?"

"...yes." Your voice was very small now. But this was what you wanted more than anything else in the world right now. Just to be held together until the danger of being blown apart was past. He needed no second bidding. He shucked off what little he was wearing to bed and slid behind you into the shower. You scooted forward so he could sit behind you, his legs on either side, and then he pulled you back against his chest, his arms around you, his hands over yours wrapped around your middle. His breathing was even and unhurried, and you could feel his chest rise and fall through your back. The rigid trembling and tension in your neck and shoulders released; you hissed as you felt the pain even stronger for a moment with the change and then go back to it's baseline. You held your breath for a moment to halt the frenetic pattern, and then carefully started again, consciously matching his. In when he breathed out, out when he breathed in. Moving together, being still together. 

Your eyes started to roll back as your body finally started to move toward the unconsciousness of pain and the exhaustion that came with it. You felt him shift a little under you and panicked for a minute. 

"Y/N, the water's too hot," he murmured. "I'm just turning it down a little." As soon as the water temperature changed you felt the pain strengthen, but this time the edge wasn't as sharp. You'd downed that whisky, and now you were being held together by someone who'd been through Hell and back and had the marks to prove that you could do it, too. And you wouldn't have to do it alone. So you lay your head back against him, and breathed. 

"You know," you slurred, "In a few hours I'm gonna be in a different mood."

"You gonna regret this?"

"Nnnnooooo. That's not...what I...I can't words." The fractured thoughts were eluding you. He pressed a kiss to your temple and it was so comforting and sweet and...non-sexual that it was exactly what you needed in that moment. 

"Then we'll deal with it when we come to it. Rest, kiddo. We're not movin' 'til you're ready."

"I fruckin' love you," you said. Yep. Most definitely drunk. But when he said it back, you didn't even care. It didn't matter if he meant it or not...but it sounded like he might.


	3. Getting Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your mood swings, just like you knew it would...and Dean is all for "crossing that bridge".

The torturous red haze faded almost as fast as it came on, and thank goodness this time it only took about two hours from the time it started. Your death-grip on Dean's hands loosened a little as the pain's hold lightened just enough for you to suck in a massive, deeper breath, feeling the oxygen offer more relief, each deep inhale lessening the pain more and more as it melted away. Dean had been struggling hard not to doze off with his chin resting on your shoulder from behind but his head lifted quickly at your change in breathing. You shifted to lean forward a little, gulping in air after hours of having to breathe shallow to avoid more pain. You felt his big hand supportively rest on your back, rubbing up and down a little and stopping at the back of your neck, rubbing his thumb over your tattoo soothingly. 

You shivered, feeling the blood rush back to your legs after sitting on a hard surface for so long. His touch made you feel other things...yep. Things were going to change very fast if things kept up like this. You ran a hand through your damp, sweaty hair, feeling pretty gross. This was not at all how you'd fantasized seeing each other naked. At all. Your cheeks turned a little pink as you realized you were so on right now that it hardly even mattered to you. 

"I'm so sorry about that," you said, your voice a little breathless but back to it's normal tone. You didn't wanna meet his eyes but that left only so many other places to look, some of which were even more distracting. "That was super uncomfortable and you could have been sleeping...we can probably get a few more hours if we go back to bed now. Sorry, but...thanks for sitting up." You carefully stood up, holding onto the wall for a minute and swaying as you rode out a wave of light-headedness. "I feel gross and I'm already wet, so might as well wash my hair and stuff real quick before I get out." You busied your hands with the tiny half-empty hotel shampoo bottle. 

He held his hand under the stream and then rubbed it over his face, the droplets collecting in his lashes and running down his chiseled cheekbones. You felt the animal side wake up. This was definitely going in a direction. 

"Might as well. We're already in here, right? You sure you're feeling better?" he asked, reaching past you for the soap and brushing against you a little in the close quarters. You grinned. 

"Yeah. Lots better. I'm good."

He noticed you staring and paused, his eyebrows raising as realization dawned and a little smirk touched his lips. 

"You uh, like what you see?" he stepped right up close to you, putting his hands on your hips. 

"Um, yes. I think that's a given. Why else do you think I agreed to stay with you tonight? I was jealous of creepy hotel manager man. He was clearly hitting this up." You touched his chest, letting your hand travel up to the back of his neck and into his hair. You could see his body responding to you only with this small touch, and you wanted to do more.

You met his eyes...everything changed in an instance. Suddenly the air, thick with swirling steam and spray, seemed alive with electricity that tingled through every part of you. It lasted only a second and then both of you moved at once, you pressing up against him, moving against his body and feeling him wake up to you, his hands on either side of your head, your wet hair spilling between his fingers as his lips locked with yours in a sudden, fierce embrace, fueled with mounting hunger and drive. He was powerful; you could feel it in his measured, controlled movements, the way his fingertips pressed in, his hand-prints you could feel on your curves. It made you feel strong. It was intoxicating. 

"I've never done this before..." you whispered against his neck. His hand slid down from your butt to your thigh, lifting your leg just behind your knee and supporting it against his hip for a better angle. His other hand cupped your jaw, continuing his earnest kisses until he backed you against the wall, repositioning a little and resting his forearm against the wall by your head for balance. He chuckled, his jaw already jumping.

"We'll fix that." 

The water enhanced the tingling heat of the moment as the two of you moved, him doing nearly all the work as you tried to respond to him in every way, your hands exploring the fine musculature of his back and nails digging in as you stifled a moan. You could feel him smile against your breast at the sound. He slid his hands down to grip your hips, kneeling in front of you and you gasped as your hands gripped his shoulders. 

"Dean...I can't..." you threw your head back, a whimper of bliss escaping your throat again as you squeezed your eyes closed. Your legs shook harder until they gave out, and you slid down the wall, breathless and slumping against him, giggling and gasping, your whole body trembling as you let out a long moan of contentment. He ran a hand through his wet hair, chest heaving as he caught his breath, a little smirk of a smile shaping his perfect lips. 

"So, that bridge we were gonna deal with when we came to it? I'm thinking we crossed it."

You jumped when there was a knock on the bathroom door and Sam's patented annoyed voice calling through, "Anytime now, guys!" You gasped and looked at Dean with wide eyes, covering your mouth to stifle a mortified giggle. 

"Sam knows...oh my..."

"You're worried about Sam? Oh, please. He knew we were gonna get lucky the minute we booked the same room. Why do you think he was pushing so hard for it?" He smirked. Your mouth opened in shock. 

"Did you put him up to that?"

"Hell no. He just got tired of watching the waiting game and decided to do something about it."

The knock on the door came again, more insistent. 

"GUYS. Come on, we do actually have a case to be working!"

And in perfect unison, yours and Dean's voices replied, "SHUT UP, SAM!"

THE END


End file.
